For Everything, A Season
by WritersInk
Summary: DoVe, No longer a one-shot. Veronica spends a drunken night in the Lamb's bed that changes the direction of her life.
1. For Everything, A Season

-1"What the hell do you think you're doing, Mars?" a voice bellowed over the music as a single, steely hand clamped down over her bicep.

Veronica tried in vain to wrestle herself free from his grip but gave up when she nearly spilled her drink in the process. "What does it look like I'm doing, Deputy? I'm getting jiggy wit' it. Seriously, don't you have some poor, hapless victim to torment?"

"Time to go," he said, tugging on her arm.

"Hey!" she shouted, indignant. "What are you…? I'm not even finished with my drink yet!"

Don rolled his eyes at her whining, took the red plastic cup from her hand and drained its contents in a single gulp.

"There. Now you're finished. Let's go."

By the time he poured her into his squad car, the alcohol was beginning to catch up to her. Unfortunately for them both, the sheriff hadn't eaten anything that day and that single, hastily downed Jack & Coke was rapidly catching up to him as well.

His apartment was halfway between the bar and the station and since the last thing he wanted to do was kill himself, Don took a left towards his complex. Veronica moaned as the car began to spin.

"If you puke in my car, I'll leave you to sleep in it," he warned as he shut off the engine.

Somehow they managed to make it inside before she started asking shouting at him. The next day, neither of them would be able to say who moved first but one minute Veronica had been grilling him about why he hadn't taken her home - it was just as close - and the next Don's hand was fisted in her hair as their tongues battled for dominance.

Clothes were practically ripped off, seams torn and buttons popped, in their haste to touch skin to skin. He took her against the living room wall the first time, the second over the back of his couch. By the third they finally made it to the bed where they remained well past sunrise.

Sore and sated, Veronica didn't speak as she tip-toed through his apartment that morning in search of her clothing. Her fingers had just closed over the doorknob when she heard him say her name.

"What?" she asked in a small voice. "Is this where you gloat and tell me to go see the wizard or some other bullshit?"

"No," he replied then yanked her forward into his arms where he kissed her long and hard. "This is where I tell you to get your ass back in my bed 'cause I'm not finished with you yet."

Later that afternoon, Veronica wondered just what sort of rabbit hole she'd fallen down the night before. She'd been out celebrating being alive after her latest brush with death when Deputy Dumbass had shown up, effectively ruining her fun. How that had led to her participation in a marathon of some of the best sex she'd ever had was anyone's guess.

A few days later, he was dead and it didn't matter. Six weeks after that, she found out she was pregnant and suddenly it mattered a lot.


	2. Chapter 2

As a rule, being the new kid in school always, always sucked. But being the new kid in the very school where your mother had been legendary, bordering on infamous? Well, that sucked big time.

So what was a girl to do when she was whispered and gossiped about for no other reason than being the illegitimate progeny of Veronica Mars? She grew a backbone and got tough. It was eat or be eaten at Neptune High and Hailey was no guppy.

From everything her mom had ever said about the place and the various people in it, not much seemed to have changed. The 09-ers still ran things while the rest of the population looked on with resentment. Still, Hailey avoided them equally.

She'd been a student at Neptune High for a grand total of four hours and had yet to make a single friend. Big surprise. Okay, so a perpetually pissed off expression didn't exactly encourage socialization but that was hardly her fault. Halfway through her junior year, she'd been shipped clear across the country against her will. Could anyone really blame her?

Frustrated with her situation, she stabbed her plastic fork into what appeared to be a grotesque facsimile of a garden salad. It didn't look the least bit appetizing. In fact it looked downright inedible. She dropped her fork back onto her tray and pushed it away.

A glance around the courtyard was nearly enough to send her running for her grandfather's office and begging to be home schooled until her mom's assignment ended. All the usual cliques had settled in and were doing all those wonderful little things that made them so special - and all of them kept stealing glances at her.

Everyone of them, from the nauseatingly peppy cheerleaders to the richest of the rich 09-ers to the biker kids, were speculating, wondering who her father was. Neptune was a small town and the mystery of her parentage seemed to be on everyone's mind and tongue.

If any of them had the guts to pull a 'Veronica' and dig into her permanent file, all they would find was the word 'unknown' on that particular line of her birth certificate. And while Hailey knew her father's name, she wasn't going to spill it to anyone to satisfy morbid curiosity.

It was hard growing up knowing who her father was but not actually knowing him. He'd died shortly after she'd been conceived. There'd been no love between her parents, just a moment of weakness induced by alcohol and a near death experience.

Sighing, she rose from her table and shouldered her rucksack before picking up her tray and heading for the garbage can. The bell would ring in a few minutes and she still needed to grab her gym bag from her locker.

Twelve feet shy of the trash, a Prada-clad foot shot out and almost sent Hailey sprawling to the ground. Two strong arms materialized seemingly out of nowhere and caught her before she fell.

"Oops," a sickeningly sweet voice said. "You really should be more careful."

"Piss off, Jessica," Hailey's hero said then turned his attention to her. "Are you okay?"

She looked up then and managed a small smile. "Yeah, thanks."

It was hard not to stare into eyes like those, deep, dark blue and watching her intently. He was tall, probably six one or two and had 'bad boy' stamped all over him, from the scruffy, unshaven jaw to the Celtic cross tattooed over the top of his wrist. When he smiled down at her, Hailey's heart hammered against her chest. Oh yeah, this guy was definitely bad news.

Pushing a stray lock of dark blond hair over her ear, she took a step back out of his grasp. "I need to get to class. Thanks again."

Thoughts of her almost-white knight were forgotten as she made her way to her locker, silently fuming over Jessica Bradford's attempt at humiliating her.

It was ironic really, the way the 09-ers treated her - as though she were public enemy number one. As far as any of them were concerned she was just as much of persona non grata as the PCH-ers. Both were socially unacceptable and flat out undesirable, a blight upon their otherwise charmed lives in Neptune. Never mind that Hailey's mother worked for the Federal Government or that her grandfather was the county supervisor. She might as well have been a leper in the literal sense for all the good that did her.

Scandals, no matter how old they were never forgotten in a town like Neptune. Just when you thought the dust might finally be clearing, they had a nasty habit of circling around to take a big, fat bite right out of your ass.

Just because she'd yet to make any friends, that didn't mean she hadn't heard what was being said about her and what was being said about her mom. Rumors had spread throughout the school like wildfire the moment she'd shown up that morning and hadn't yet died down or been replaced by more interesting gossip.

It was an old story. At least it was for her. She'd heard it often enough over the years. Her mom had left California the summer after her freshman year of college for an internship with the FBI only to discover that she was pregnant two whole days into the program. When she'd told her father, he'd moved them north to Los Angeles. It was with his help that Veronica had been able to finish school, first at the local community college and then at UCLA.

The prospect of an abortion was never given serious thought. It wasn't that she didn't support a woman's right to choose, which she did, wholeheartedly. It just hadn't seemed the thing for her to do. Maybe it was because _he _had died, maybe she'd somehow felt she'd owed it to him for his child to live on. She'd never said and Hailey didn't have the guts to ask.

But somehow, they'd pulled through and Veronica graduated with honors. With the FBI no longer an option, she'd settled for the LAPD. Hailey had just started her first ballet class when they moved again, this time to New York City. When she was old enough to understand, she'd learned that her mom had been approached by the DEA and had all but leapt at the opportunity to join the agency.

Then, a few years ago, a woman had shown up on their doorstep looking for her grandfather. Her name was Celeste Kane and she'd needed his help finding her son. And find him, he had. To her mother's everlasting surprise, Pop and Celeste had married less than a year later.

With the exception of her grandparents, no one in Neptune knew who her father was and people were talking. You'd think they'd try to be a little more subtle about it all. It didn't matter if she were in the line at the grocery store or walking her dog at the beach. They were all just dying to know.

It was ridiculous. Didn't these people have better things to do? If she had to take much more of this, Hailey was certain she was going to crack and end up spending all of her savings on a billboard in the center of town that said 'my mom fucked Sheriff Lamb - now stop staring!' Okay, so she would never do it in a million years but it was fun to fantasize about the shocked faces of, well…everyone.

Fifth and sixth period passed without incident, much to Hailey's relief but it was her final period of the day that she'd been dreading. Again, irony reared its ugly head and landed her in the only available physical education elective, dance.

Now there was a laugh. After more than a decade of intensive study, the last two and a half years of which were taken at the La Guardia School on Manhattan's Upper West Side and several more to come when she attended Julliard - yes, they'd already come courting - taking Neptune High's class was certainly another unexpected turn of events.

Hailey avoided making eye contact with any of the other girls in the class as she walked barefoot to one of the benches to await their teacher. She sat in her sweat pants and zip up hoodie holding her slippers in her right hand while she tapped them against her knee studiously ignoring Gwen Casablancas' snickering.

"Oh my God!" the petite blond squealed. "Look at her feet!"

Looking down, Hailey saw nothing unusual. So she'd never win the 'world's prettiest toes' award, she could live with that. But to the uneducated and those uncouth enough to comment on them, they might appear to be a little less than aesthetically pleasing. Eleven years of hard dancing with several of those spent en Pointe tended to take a rather harsh toll.

"That will be enough, Gwen," Ms. Wainwright said as she entered the room. "Good afternoon, ladies. As I'm sure you've noticed, we have a new student. Hailey Mars has just transferred from New York City and will be here for the remainder of the school year."

A manicured hand shot up into the air. "Ms. Wainwright?"

"Yes, Gwen?"

"At the beginning of the school year, you had us all 'audition' so that you could determine our individual skill levels. I think it's only fair that Hailey do the same."

It was the smug expression on the freshman girl's face that pushed Hailey over the edge. The blond fully expected her to fall flat on her face and make a fool out of herself. While she certainly wasn't one to flaunt her talent, she'd be damned if she'd let the pretentious little princess get the best of her.

"It really isn't necessary. You see, Hailey is -" the older woman began but was cut off when the student in question interrupted.

"I'll do it. After all, they all had to, so why shouldn't I? Isn't that right, Gwen?"

"If you're absolutely certain?" Ms. Wainwright asked, concerned.

Hailey nodded and stripped off the bulky sweats revealing a slim, sleekly toned body, sculpted by years of hard work and discipline.

Her leotard was simple and traditional, black with thin spaghetti straps and fit her like a second skin. After slipping on her shoes she moved out onto the center of the floor. The impulse to throw every bit of her often lauded talent into her 'assessment' was quashed by the gut instinct that it wouldn't make a bit of difference to her classmates.

Instead, she went through a basic routine, one that she had learned when she was still in elementary school. A few pirouettes, a small leap and a grand plie or two and she'd given a believable performance.

The class period was relatively uneventful after that. When the final bell sounded, Hailey was surprised to find herself being asked to remain behind.

Rather than changing back into her school clothes, she opted for pulling her jeans over her leotard and zipped up her hoodie before tying it around her hips. Dressed, she shouldered her bag and stood next to Ms. Wainwright's desk.

"Hailey," her teacher began, "I know how hard all this must be for you. Especially, having your programme interrupted this way. But I have spoken with your instructors at La Guardia and if you'll allow me, I would like to help you keep up with your training."

Smiling, Hailey replied, "Thank you, Ms. Wainwright. That would be very helpful."

"Good. I have Tuesday and Thursday evenings free if that is agreeable?" Hailey nodded. "It's settled then. But there is something I would like to ask you."

"You want to know why I danced the way I did today?" she asked intuitively.

"Yes, I do."

She sighed. "Part of me wanted to go hard and show them all what I can do. But what purpose would that have served? Being a better dancer won't win me any popularity contests. They won't accept me for the simple fact of who my mother is. Showing them up in class won't change that. And it would set the grading curve higher than is fair - to any of them. Besides, it would be petty and mean and that's just not who I am."

"You've a kind heart, Hailey. Don't lose that."

Outside the classroom door, Gwen Casablancas listened, wondering just what programme Ms. Wainwright had been talking about and just what was so special about Hailey Mars that the former ballerina was willing to spend extra time outside of class working with her. Whatever it was, Gwen was determined to find out.


	3. Chapter 3

Keith and Celeste Mars lived in an affluent neighborhood just inside the 90909 zip code. Their house, while not nearly as large as many others on their street, was a unique blending of tasteful elegance and nostalgic memorabilia. It was in every sense a home.

Warm, hardwood floors lined the downstairs rooms while thick California Berber graced the upstairs bedrooms. The furnishings were expensive and complimented both Celeste's and her husband's individual styles. When she'd learned that her step-granddaughter would be joining them, Celeste had taken special care with the decoration of Hailey's bedroom.

She knew very little about Veronica's daughter save that she was a lovely, gifted dancer and a beautiful girl who appeared to be nothing at all like her mother, something for which Celeste was thoroughly grateful.

The bedroom was large with a double French doors which led to a small balcony that faced the pool. She'd had the walls painted lavender with buttery cream wainscoting. Feminine without being girlish, the bed was a wrought iron four poster with cream and gold silk draped over the top and gathered at each of the posts.

The cream coverlet was embroidered, impossibly soft Egyptian cotton. Pillows were piled high at the head of the bed, shammed in deep, wine red and brilliant gold. Dainty nightstands stood on Queen Anne legs on either side of the bed and were topped with sweet smelling candles and fresh cut flowers.

Keith had accused her of trying too hard, but Celeste disagreed. She was simply pampering a girl who worked too hard and had too little. Veronica provided well for her daughter but there were some things that she'd been unable to give. She was too much of a cop for it to be otherwise.

Little things like flowers on a birthday, a pretty dress for no reason, visits to the art museum, or spending a day at the spa have never been a part of Hailey's life and Celeste wanted to give her that while she was in Neptune. Maybe the room had been a bit of overkill but she wouldn't take it back for the world, not after witnessing the girl's pleasure upon seeing it for the first time.

In a whirlwind of life, the object of her musings came rushing through the house, making a b-line for the pool house that had been converted into a dance studio. Not for the first time, the new Mrs. Mars found herself wondering where Hailey's talent had come from. To the best of her knowledge no one in Keith or Lianne's families had any aptitude for dancing. Perhaps it was inherited from her father?

Now there was something that had stunned Celeste, breaching her otherwise unflappable exterior. Like everyone else in Neptune, she'd assumed that Hailey was Logan Echolls child but when Keith had confided the girl's paternity, she'd been stunned speechless. She'd never liked Veronica, that was no secret. But learning that the girl had bedded the sheriff before his tragic death? It was so unbelievable it had to be true.

Hailey resembled him sometimes, when she was cross or felt she was being condescended to. While her height and coloring had obviously been inherited from her father, her face was Veronica's, right down to the little twist of her lips when she was in deep thought.

Still, she was so different from her mother and that in itself was a blessing. Hailey was everything Celeste had hoped her own daughter would have been. Sweet, charming, witty, intelligent, polite and generous. The girl didn't have a single mean-spirited bone in her body.

Celeste walked outside and across the pool deck to the studio. Hailey had already shed her jeans and was stretching and warming up her muscles. Her dark blond hair had been pulled back into a knot at the nape of her neck though a few strands had escaped and were teasing her face.

"How was school?" Celeste asked as she took a seat in the damask covered wing back chair she'd had moved out to the studio for her use.

"Okay, I guess," her granddaughter replied, one hand gripping the barre lightly as she moved through the positions. "The people suck, but I expected that."

"Must you use such coarse language, Hailey?"

"Sorry, Celeste. The people are horrid," she said in correction. "Between Jessica Bradford and Gwen Cassablancas I'm certain this is going to be an interesting few months. Why are girls always so catty?"

The older woman laughed softly. "It's insecurity, nothing more. Tell me about your classes. Are they adequately challenging?"

Hailey shrugged before lifting her right leg to support it on the barre just behind her heel. She stretched forward, bending her body to lay flat against her leg and gripped her ankle. "They'll do, I suppose. My lit class seems interesting. We're reading _The Great Gatsby_. My physics teacher is a chauvinist pig but most male science teachers are, at least all the ones I've ever had."

She changed legs and continued. "Ms. Wainwright, my dance teacher, has offered to work with me two evenings a week so that I don't fall behind. She was with the ABC."

Nodding, Celeste said, "She certainly was and did very well until she was injured. Paula will make an excellent coach. I'll invite her to dine with us tomorrow night after your first session. And don't worry, I'll be certain to have Antoine prepare your meal separately, and without substitutions this time. How you survive on that tasteless diet of yours, I'll never know."

This time Hailey laughed. "So says the woman who doesn't have to maintain a whopping one hundred and five pounds."

"You're five-seven, Hailey. I simply do not understand how weighing a fraction over one hundred pounds is healthy." When her young companion began to protest, she raised her hand. "But I understand that its necessary as a dancer, especially one who hopes to attend Julliard."

She rose and walked to the stereo system. It was state of the art and was set into the wall. Below it, shelves filled with CD's offered a wide selection of music. Celeste thumbed through a few until she found one that caught her eye.

"The Black Eyed Peas?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Guilty pleasure," was the amused reply.

"I see. You mentioned Gwen Cassablancas. Is the girl giving you problems?"

"Nothing I can't handle," Hailey answered. "Will you push the play button? The disc is already loaded."

"Certainly. If Gwen becomes too much of bother, let me know. I'll have a word with Cindy." She pressed the button and placed the remote within her granddaughter's reach. "I'll see you at dinner."

For the next two hours, Hailey pushed herself hard. She had just begun working on her piece for La Guardia's annual talent showcase that would be put on in October. While it was still several months away, she wanted to make it her best work ever. It would be the cornerstone of her audition for Julliard. Ballet would be the primary element but she also wanted to integrate a number of dance forms and techniques into the routine.

Her muscles ached by the time she decided to call it quits for the evening. A hot shower and homework were calling.

When she stepped out of her bathroom and into her bedroom, a steaming tray of veggies and tofu were waiting for her. She munched as she drafted her essay enumerating the reasons why the United States had remained neutral during World War II prior to the bombing of Pearl Harbor.

It was late when Hailey closed her lap top and climbed in bed with Gatsby. She tried to read it, she really did but she couldn't seem to concentrate. More than a week had passed since she'd said goodbye to her mom. Knowing that she was off saving the world helped a little bit but it couldn't take away the worry and the loneliness.

Her mom was her best friend and whenever Veronica went undercover, Hailey couldn't help the fear that became her constant companion. She knew the risks her mother took and she understood the reasons she took them. But that didn't lessen the fact that every time she went out in the field, she might not come back. Not being able to talk to her at all didn't help either.

Unfortunately, that was the reality of their life. Abandoning the book, she slid out of the bed to kneel beside it. There, as she did every night, she prayed for her mom's safety and happiness. She wasn't devout but she liked to attend Mass every now and again and praying for her mom went a long way towards making her feel better.

She just hoped God was listening.


	4. Chapter 4

Hailey's second day of school was just as unbearable as the first, culminating in what would have been a rather nasty lunch time cat fight had Principal Van Clemmons not shown up when he did. Jessica Bradford had succeeded in tripping her today, resulting in two skinned palms and a banged up knee.

All the self-restraint she'd been showing up to the point went right out the window when the red head had laughed and told her to watch her step. Hailey let her fist fly only to have her arm caught before it could connect with the other girl's smug face.

The arm that held her back was joined by a second that curled around her middle as a warm body pressed against her back, preventing her from beating the daylights out of her attacker.

"Easy now, girl," he whispered into her ear. She'd only heard it once before but she'd know that voice anywhere. It was the boy who helped her yesterday. Hailey bit back a moan of humiliation.

"Let me go," she demanded through clenched teeth.

"Not a chance," he replied, shaking his head.

"Found a new pet, Tommy?" Jessica asked as she sauntered towards them. "Looks like you're gonna need to keep her on a leash."

Hailey wiggled but he only tightened his hold. "Why don't you head back to your little 09-er friends and leave the rest of us alone, Jessica." His tone was the kind a parent would use with a misbehaving child.

"How can you say that when that little bitch who's rubbing herself all over you tried to hit me?"

Deciding she'd had enough, Hailey took a half step backward then quickly spun and dropped down, slipping free of the boy's grip before he realized what she was doing. Once she was loose, she rushed the other girl, knocking her back onto one of the lunch tables.

The two grappled for a few moments, but Hailey was stronger and more agile. But just as he had a few minutes earlier, Tommy was there, pulling her back, just shy of punching the other girl.

"Miss Mars, I should have known," the principal said when he arrived a moment later. "It seems you're more like your mother than I first believed. Report to my office immediately after lunch. Miss Bradford, I suggest you keep your feet to yourself from now on."

"But Mr. Van Clemmons, I didn't do anything. _She _attacked _me_," Jessica whined.

"I have several witnesses who say otherwise, Miss Bradford."

"But…"

"That's the end of it. Unless you'd care to serve detention with Mr. Perkins this afternoon?"

As the principal left the courtyard, Hailey surveyed the damage. Her left knee was tender, no doubt bruised and her palms were scraped raw. Just lovely. There'd be no dancing for the next several days, let alone tonight. Damn it!

With a grimace, she grabbed up her bag and remains of her lunch tray and began hobbling towards the building where her locker was located. Long legs clad in faded denim kept pace with her as she walked. She didn't have to look up to know that those legs belonged to Tommy, her unconventional champion.

"Why are you following me?" she asked as she reached for the door handle half a second before his hand closed over the same spot, wrapping her fingers in unexpected warmth. For a moment she didn't move, then looked up.

"Who said I'm following you?" he answered with a grin. "Maybe you're following me."

Again, she was struck by how handsome he was. Tall, with a swimmer's build and a thin dusting of stubble dotting his jaw, he had a devilish grin and laughing eyes. As her eyes moved over him, she realized that he was the embodiment of style, edgy and raw, from the distressed leather of his jacket to the chunky silver ring on the hand that still held onto hers.

When she raised her eyes to meet his, she didn't smile back. Immediately taking the not so subtle hint, he let go, raised his hands and stepped back.

"By all means, ladies first," he quipped sarcastically. His voice was rich and warm and for the third time in two days nearly melted her on the spot.

Hailey wrenched the heavy door open and waved a hand towards it. "Like you said, ladies first."

Tommy laughed and did exactly as she suggested, preceding her into the building. When they'd reached her locker he tugged on a lock of her hair then tucked it behind her ear.

"You're something else, Hailey Mars," he said before disappearing down the hallway.

"Weird," she mumbled as she opened her locker.

Her day only got weirder from there. As she sat in her dance lass with ice strapped to her knee with a wide Ace bandage she watched Gwen move through a series of basic steps that had been taught to all the girls. But unlike the others, she seemed to be capable of more. She'd never be a professional dancer but she definitely had talent.

Towards the end of class, when she'd finished going through the steps for the eighth time, she collapsed heavily onto the bench next to Hailey. For a long moment, she didn't say anything, then much to their combined surprise, apologized for her behavior the day before.

"I was a real bitch yesterday," she said. "I'm sorry."

"Don't worry about it."

Gwen shook her head. "I can't seem to stop myself sometimes. It drives my mom crazy. But I think that's just because she wasn't popular in school and it was girls like me who made her life miserable."

Hailey laughed. "Yeah, I guess that could be a problem."

"Do you and your mom get along?"

This time she shrugged. "Most of the time. She's my best friend."

"That must be cool," Gwen sighed. "My mom and I fight a lot. She says I'm too much like my dad."

"I think my mom is relieved that I'm not more like her. We'd probably make each other nuts if I was. Two cops in my family is enough for me."

"Two cops? Oh, yeah. You're grandfather was sheriff a long time ago."

There's irony for you, Hailey silently mused. She wasn't even thinking of Pop when she'd said that.

"I just think she's grateful she doesn't have to worry about me as much as Pop did her."

"Mom worries about me constantly. Probably because I am so much like Dad." Gwen paused for a long moment then said, "Can I ask you something kind of personal?"

Here it comes, Hailey thought. The inevitable, who's your dad question. She nodded anyway.

"It's about your…what I mean is, what happened to your feet?"

"My feet?"

"Yeah, your toes look like they've been broken or something. What happened to them?"

"Oh, that," Hailey said, relieved. "I've been dancing practically since I could walk."

"I thought as much. I overheard you and Ms. Wainwright talking yesterday. Are you really that good?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well, I mean you'd pretty much have to be for Ms. Wainwright to take you on like that. She doesn't do private lessons. I know, I asked."

"I don't know, maybe. I dance because I love it. Not because I'm trying to be the best at it. As long as I'm doing my best then that's all that matters, you know?"

Gwen nodded. "What happened to your knee?"

"You mean you haven't heard? Jessica Bradford decided to try to trip me again today. This time she succeeded."

"I'd have punched the crap out of her."

"Believe me it wasn't for lack of trying. This guy, Tommy, held me back."

"Tommy?" Gwen repeated. "Tall, gorgeous with a smile to die for?"

Blushing, Hailey nodded. "Sounds about right."

"That's Tommy Connelly. He's Jessica's half-brother."


	5. Chapter 5

The next day while Hailey was facing her third day as a Neptune High student, Veronica was lying on a sandy beach three thousand miles away in Miami, Florida enjoying the sun and the proverbial calm before the storm. Later that afternoon, she would be briefed on her assignment and would meet the agent who would be posing as her lover for its duration.

Lover, she scoffed as she flipped over onto her stomach. How long had it been since she'd had one of those? Two, three years? She wished she could say she didn't remember but the painful truth was that she did.

Logan had been in town for the premiere of his latest box office triumph and wanted to celebrate. They'd decided years before that friendship with the occasional benefit would suit them best. He came to New York a few times a year, usually for film premieres and sometimes for shooting. The mantle of producer sat well on his shoulders, something that was as surprising to him as it had been to her. His films were as varied and eclectic as his own personality.

What had started out as a late supper at her apartment and some much needed love making had rapidly disintegrated into another heated argument. It was the same old tune. He'd done the math long ago and again demanded to know if Hailey was his daughter.

They'd been dating when she was conceived. He was no longer satisfied with a simple no as an answer. This time he threatened to take legal action.

A formal request for proof of paternity made by Logan Echolls would make headlines and would put Veronica's face as well as her daughter's on every major newspaper around the world. Given her occupation, it would have devastating consequences. The fragile hold she'd had over her temper was lost at that point.

Looking back now, she wished she'd just kept her mouth shut. But faced with the thought that he'd do exactly as he'd said, she'd said to hell with it and told him that Hailey wasn't his daughter. When she confessed who had fathered her child, Logan's expression might have been comical if the situation had been less dire. Shocked just didn't quite cover it.

After he'd left that night, she'd known it was over, that she'd never see him again. He'd once said they were epic and maybe they were, but not all epics end in happily ever after. Most, in point of fact, didn't.

It had been two years and five months since Logan had walked out of her door for good. Her job and her daughter were her life now. She had to be content with that.

Veronica pushed herself up and glanced at her cell phone. It was just after one. She had a little over two hours until she was to meet with her new partner.

Reluctantly, she packed up her things and left the beach.

The hotel was one of the most luxurious in all of South Beach and it was where she and her 'lover' were having an afternoon tryst. Of course, their tryst was actually an assignment briefing and introduction but appearances had to be maintained.

Having already been given her undercover identity and all the trappings that went with it, she'd dressed with care. Her shoulder length hair had been swept up into a classy twist with a few tendrils left loose to softly frame her face. Diamonds winked in her ears and from around her wrist. The pale blue silk sundress fit like it had been made for her and probably had. It was strapless and hugged her hips while accentuating the slimness of her waist.

As she glided across the hotel's marble floor on skinny, silver python Jimmy Choo's she turned more than a few heads. Bypassing the front desk, she made her way to the elevators at the center of the lobby level. She stepped off at the twenty-second floor.

There were two sets of doors, one at either end of the hallway. She knew from the intel she'd already been provided that the door to the left belonged to a wealthy couple from Oregon who were currently on an extended second honeymoon. The door to the right was guarded by two men in black suits.

Her hips swayed just slightly as she approached them. The men, who were both on the agency payroll, nodded in greeting before opening the door for her.

"Good afternoon, Miss Atherton," one of them said as she passed.

She didn't reply. Instead she entered the suite and tossed her bag onto a nearby chair. It was a lovely room, despite its slightly cold, contemporary décor. The living area was surrounded by floor to ceiling windows that provided a breathtaking view of the ocean. Just to the right were a pair of glossy, white double doors that could only lead to the bedroom.

Her partner had yet to make an appearance and though she was annoyed, she didn't show it. The wet bar provided a pleasant enough distraction as she poured herself a vodka tonic.

As she took her first sip, a rich, masculine voice drawled behind her, "Drinking on the job, Mars?"

The glass fell from her suddenly numb fingers and shattered when it struck the marble floor. Ignoring it, she whirled around and stopped breathing.

He stood there, dressed in designer jeans and a white linen shirt, leaning one shoulder against the bedroom door jamb. His blue eyes seemed to mock her even more than they ever had before.

Veronica had never had a panic attack in her life but she felt certain that she was on the verge of one now. Surely she was hallucinating. There was simply no possible way that Donald Lamb was standing fifteen feet away in a Miami hotel room - smiling at her. It just wasn't possible. It wasn't.

"You're dead," she finally managed to croak out.

Laughing, he pushed away from the doorway and picked up a telephone handset. "Sorry to disappoint, Mars but I'm very much alive." He paused a moment then spoke into the phone. "This is Michael Cohan. We've had an accident. Would you please send up housekeeping? Thank you."

When he turned his attention back to Veronica, she was sitting on an ottoman with her head buried in her hands. She was every bit as beautiful as he'd remembered and he'd wager every bit as dangerous.

He went to the bar and poured two fingers of scotch in a glass. He sat down on the couch in front of her and pushed the drink into her hands.

"Drink it," he urged. Woodenly, she complied, grimacing as the whiskey burned her throat.

"Lucy," she said finally, "you've got some 'splaining to do."


	6. Chapter 6

"Don't tell me you've missed me, Mars," Don drawled with a lopsided grin.

Missed him? Only on those countless nights when their daughter had cried herself to sleep, when Hailey had cried for the father she'd never get to know. Only when sex with Logan had become routine and mundane, lacking anything that even remotely resembled the passion Veronica had shared with the former sheriff that fateful night.

Keeping up with her usual manner, she concealed her inner turmoil with sarcasm. "Only when I needed to be reminded of all the reasons why elections should be rigged."

"They were," he admitted, his smile fading. "Rigged, that is."

"What!?"

"Don't go getting your panties in a twist, Veronica. I was on a deep cover assignment, one that lasted years instead of months. My position as sheriff was crucial."

"What kind of assignment lasts years? And who are you really?" she asked, suddenly very certain that she didn't know this man at all.

He sighed and stood, shoving his hands in his pockets as he walked towards the windows. Looking out at the bay, he said, "My name, my real name is Frank Lambert. Franklin _Donald _Lambert. I've been with the Agency for over twenty years now but I was still a rookie when I got the Neptune assignment. It was long term, the kind that appealed to me because I'd grown up in a tiny cow town in west Texas and had a hankering to see the ocean.

"I spent the next several years playing clean up boy for the Fitzpatricks, siphoning out what information I could and passing it along. I had a part to play and I can't say I didn't enjoy it at times. Others…not so much."

For a long moment, he was silent and Veronica couldn't help but wonder what 'other' times he was thinking of. Did he regret sending her away the morning after Shelly Pomroy's party? Worse, did he regret the night they spent together? For the first few months of her pregnancy, Veronica had regretted it herself, desperately so. But with the first fluttering of movement inside her belly, all that had changed. Unconsciously, she pressed a hand to her lower stomach, just over the scar left behind by Hailey's birth.

"I'd been undercover in Neptune for close to six years," Don finally continued, pulling Veronica from her thoughts. "And just before I was able to arrest the bad guys, someone blew my cover straight to hell. Botando was one of our low level informants and agreed to help fake my death in exchange for a new identity. It pissed me off, too walking away from years of hard work but we had another agent inside who was able keep the investigation going. He got the bust and I got a new assignment."

He turned around then and looked at her. "It took me five years to dig myself out of the hole I'd landed in after my fuck up in Neptune. Eventually, after I driven a desk long enough, the Agency allowed me to go back undercover. But I'm not thirty anymore and for the past couple of years, I've been content to let younger agents do the grunt work." Laughing he added, "Imagine my surprise to be back in the field - with you."

Veronica downed the rest of her whiskey and with unsteady fingers sat the empty glass on the side table. "Bet that really chapped your ass, Deputy."

_Deputy_. God, how long had it been since he'd heard that word fall from her lips? Too fucking long, that was for sure. After seventeen years, it still went straight to his cock. He was adjusting himself rather blatantly before he even realized he was doing it, drawing Veronica's eyes to his groin. As a flush darkened her skin, Don couldn't help but wonder what she'd do if she knew - if she knew he'd nearly blown six years of investigation, had given up a career-making bust and had done it all for her. Bet that would chap _her _ass.

He watched in fascination as she swallowed hard and looked away only to suddenly whip her head back around so quickly it made his neck hurt. Her eyes were flashing with growing rage as she surged to her feet.

"Dad!" she shouted then clapped a hand over her mouth. "Oh, my God. Daddy."

Don's eyebrows rose. "Sorry to disappoint you, Mars, but I'm not really into the whole 'who's your daddy' thing."

Veronica managed not to roll her eyes. "That's not what I meant, you ass. My father. He was there when you were 'killed', wasn't he?"

"Yes, he was," Don replied slowly, wondering just where she was going with this.

"He told me…he…" Veronica's eyes lost their fire and went strangely blank. "He knew. All this time he knew and he never said anything."

There was so much defeat in her tone that Don was reluctant to nod but did so anyway and watched in apprehension as she all but fell back down on the couch, burying her head in her hands.

"Veronica…" he began but was interrupted by a knock on the suite's door. Sighing, Don crossed the room and allowed the maid inside to clean up the broken glass that had since been forgotten. Thankfully, she had the mess cleaned up in less than two minutes. When he shut the door behind the woman, he leaned forward for a moment and pressed his forehead against the smooth, cool surface of the wood.

Christ, but he was too old for this. He'd wanted to retire years ago but had allowed himself to be pulled back into active duty after 9/11. A growing number of terrorist organizations and networks were funded by the drug trade and an escalating war only increased the productivity and demand. Some days he wished he'd just said 'fuck it' and walked away.

Don pushed away from the door and after tiredly scrubbing a hand over his face turned back towards his new partner. She'd raised her head but was staring forward as she sat unmoving on the couch.

While Don was asking himself just why the hell Keith's knowing that he hadn't died that afternoon had affected Veronica so dramatically, she was reeling from the knowledge that she would never be able to trust her father again. For seventeen years he'd been lying to her. He'd known that Lamb was alive and he'd said nothing.

She thought back to that day when the mayor's office had called to tell them the sheriff was dead. A shadow had passed over her father's eyes. She'd thought she'd imagined it. Now she wasn't so sure. Logically, Veronica understood that her dad's part in the deception had been necessary and she understood that he wouldn't have been able to tell her. But all the 'classified' bull shit should have been tossed right out the window the moment she'd said the words, 'Daddy, I'm pregnant.' Instead, he'd kept silent.

"I'll never forgive him for this," she whispered hoarsely. "Never."

"Didn't realize you cared that much," Don quipped, taking a seat opposite her.

Her eyes snapped up to his and narrowed. "Fuck you, _Frank_," she hissed, stressing the use of his real name.

"Been there and done that, darlin'," he drawled lazily. "As I recall, you had a damn fine time."

Whatever reaction he'd been expecting, it wasn't the sudden shower of tears that spilled out onto her cheeks. The Veronica he remembered would rather die than cry in front of him. Yet here she sat, silently sobbing, tormented by some pain she obviously refused to voice. Don couldn't shake the feeling that he was somehow to blame.

"Ah, Christ, Mars," he muttered before closing the distance between them to wrap her in his arms. Like all men, he was rendered helpless by the sight of a woman's tears and Veronica's were more damaging than any other.

For a long moment, Veronica allowed herself to lean into him, absorbing his strength and inhaling his scent before remembering herself and shoving him away. "I hate you!" she cried as she began punching him. Over and over, she pounded her fists against his chest and shoulders. "Why?" Her voice was little more than whisper but that one syllable held a whole lot of pain.

With one tug, Don pulled Veronica into his lap and grabbed her wrists. She struggled wildly against his hold, bucking and writhing as she tried to free herself from his grasp.

"Give it up, Mars," he said. "I'm not letting you go until you tell me what the hell is wrong with you."

Veronica stilled and became instantly aware of two things at once. One, she was straddling Don's hips, sitting face to face and chest to chest with a man she'd believed dead for seventeen years. And two, he was pretty fucking far from dead if the raging hard-on beneath her were any indication.

She shifted slightly, eliciting a strangled, "For fuck's sake, Veronica. Don't move."

When their eyes met, she became aware of something else entirely. She was staring into the same eyes she'd looked into every day for the past sixteen years, eyes that belonged to her daughter. Correction, their daughter.

Ordinarily, thinking of Hailey in terms of being 'their' daughter was accompanied by sadness and regret. But right now those thoughts sent her blood rushing as memories of _that _night flooded her mind. Her eyes dropped to his mouth and she bit her lower lip to keep from closing the distance between them.

When she finally looked back up at his face, his own eyes were closed. Veronica was suddenly struck by how handsome he was and had always been. His light brown hair was graying a bit at his temples and there were a few worry lines that hadn't been there before, but he still looked the same. The body beneath hers was still strong and muscular despite the fact that Don had passed forty a few years earlier. It was clear he still took excellent care of himself. Yet another thing he had in common with Hailey.

This time, thoughts of their daughter had a sobering effect and Veronica found the strength to push herself up and away from him. He didn't attempt to stop her, but loosened his grip on her wrists instead, allowing her to stand.

Veronica took a few moments to smooth the wrinkles from her dress, giving herself time to gather her composure. She'd been perilously close to kissing him. Dangerously close to brushing her lips against his to taste that indescribable something that had always burrowed its way beneath her skin whenever he was near.

With a heavy sigh, she sat back down and lifted a hand to her hair in a rare indication of nervousness. Because of their cover, she would eventually have to kiss him and Veronica was terrified of what might happen when she did. It had been too long since she'd allowed herself to be touched. Too long since she'd felt the rush of desire. Too long since she'd been driven to the edge and past it. She couldn't do this. She couldn't spend the next several weeks pretending to be his lover, pretending that he hadn't just been resurrected from the ashes of her past.

"This is a mistake," she said at last. "There's no way you and I will be able to pull off a believable couple. Not with our history."

Don had been watching her as she fidgeted with her dress and hair, his curiosity growing with each passing moment. The Veronica he remembered had been one cool customer, always one step ahead of him. He'd never known anyone who could think as quickly on their feet as she did. To see her so jittery and uncertain was mildly alarming.

As she continued to speak, asking him to contact his superiors and ask them to replace her with another, better suited female agent, he settled back into the couch, lacing his fingers behind his head. The past two decades had been good to her, that much was clear. Her curves were a bit more exaggerated than they'd been all those years ago and her tits were a bit larger than he recalled but she was still as gorgeous as ever. He still remembered the feel of her skin beneath his hands and lips. The way she'd moaned his name and cursed him with her next breath. He could never forget the way it had felt to be inside her, possessing her the way she'd possessed him from the very moment he'd clapped eyes on her.

She'd been little more than a girl then, but there'd been something about that saucy mouth and those laughing blue eyes that taunted and teased him into obsession. He'd known she was telling him the truth when she'd come to him that morning twenty years ago. It had been written painfully across her features. Rape and not virgin's remorse had driven her to him and because he was knee-deep in corrupt, drug-slinging Irishmen with questionable ties to the Mexican cartels, he'd had to play the bastard. He'd leered at her and mocked her cruelly before sending her on her way.

If keeping tabs on Veronica Mars had been a full time job, keeping her out of danger had been twice as bad. As she'd begun to excel in the field of investigation, he had had his work cut out for him, preventing her from accidentally stumbling across anything that would lead her back to him and his own investigation.

Don shoved his hands into his pockets as he watched the pages burn. For nearly half his life, he'd been living one lie or another in the service of his country and his conscience. Keeping drugs off the streets had once been the only thing that mattered to him. Don learned at an early age how substance abuse can destroy lives, a lesson that had been beaten into him by his father whenever he'd come home high or drunk.

The job had been his life, his only purpose for so long that he'd put his life on hold and until now had never regretted doing so. He'd had a brief moment of doubt the day he'd watched Veronica walk out of his apartment door knowing that in a few days time he'd be leaving Neptune for good. In that moment, he'd been torn between duty and the gut-wrenching desire he felt for her. He'd been tempted to give it all up and ask her to stay with him. It wasn't his dedication to the job that had kept him from calling out to her but the self-loathing he saw reflected in her eyes as she shut the door.

Don didn't believe in fate and yet Veronica Mars had walked into his life again out of the clear blue sky, leaving him to wonder if there was some higher power out there. He didn't know what would happen over the next several weeks. They were going to be in close proximity on a daily basis until the job was done. Pretending to be in a steamy affair whenever anyone was looking was certainly going to complicate things for them because he wasn't going to be able to leave it at pretending for very long.

She'd pulled the pins from her hair, allowing to spill over her shoulders. With a heavy sigh, Veronica ran a hand through it.

"This isn't going to work," she said finally, repeating her argument.

"What isn't going to work?" he asked reflexively without turning around to face her.

"This. You and me and this case. We need to call HQ and let them know that they need to send someone else."

"They're not going to send anyone else. Not this late in the game. People have already seen the both of us and tonight they'll see us together. We have no choice but to continue or lose the opportunity altogether." He turned then and stared down at her. "Besides it wouldn't look good if we claimed to be unable to work together."

"Agents do it every day. Why should we be any different?" she asked, confused.

He smiled tightly as he replied, "It would look bad because I asked for you. Specifically you. Your name might have been on the list the Agency came up with but I'd already asked for you."

Veronica was rendered speechless for the second time that afternoon and sat gaping at him like a fish. When she finally recovered the ability to speak, she asked him why. Why did he chose her?

His answer was to pull her up from where she sat and slant his mouth over hers. The kiss was hot, hard and demanding and she was lost in it. In him. Her arms wound around his neck as she pressed her body against his, reveling in the feel of the hardness of his chest, belly and thighs. Heat pooled in her abdomen, licking at her senses and fanning out through her body like wildfire.

It had been so long since she'd been kissed or held. God, how she'd needed this. Part of her had begun to believe that she'd imagined the way he'd made her feel that night. Now, she wasn't so sure. If a single kiss could rock her to her core…

"No!" she cried, wrenching herself free of his grasp. On unsteady legs she stumbled backwards and fell onto the couch. "I can't do this. I just can't."

"Yes, you can, Veronica. You can better than anyone else," he said as he dropped to his knees in front of her. "How many times did you turn the tables on me and lead me around by my nose?"

She snorted. "That's because you're a moron, Deputy."

Jesus, he thought. How was it one word could make him harder than granite? Was it the contemptuous way she said it that turned him on?

"Say it again," Don growled from deep in his throat. "Say _it_."

"Maybe next time," she quipped as she reached for her shoes. She tugged them on with a frown. Still weak-kneed from his kiss, she wondered just how the hell she was going to manage to make a decent exit in five inch stilettos.

"Veronica the tease," he muttered then pushed away from the couch and stood, allowing her room to slip past him. "I'll be by your hotel at seven to pick you up. Your bags will be moved here while we eat."

He expected an argument but to his surprise, she simply nodded before walking out the door.


End file.
